


_respect_

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: A MAJOR CHARACTER DIES, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Biting, Cannibalism, Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, LIKE DED DED, PROLLY BE SAD SAD, Sad, ded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: The team works a case of suspected cannibals — one Malcolm needs, but he hasn't slept and can't concentrate.For Bad Things Happen Bingo Friends Pick Edition prompt Biting.Please note the tag that says Character Death. Yep, that one.
Comments: 44
Kudos: 67
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	_respect_

**Author's Note:**

> this is the fourth notice of character death and last chance to turn back

Every last bit of energy is drained out of Malcolm by the time he makes it up the stairs to his loft. His coat somehow makes it onto the rack instead of the floor, and his shoes get toed off below it. He swings open the door to Sunshine’s cage and slowly slides his hand inside. “Come here, baby,” he coos, his palm inviting her feet.

She drops onto his hand and he brings her out, watching her head at the top of the door. He gets her clear, and she brushes her head against his index finger and pinches the skin. “ _Sunshine!_ “ he’s surprised by her bite, a small break left behind.

She takes off, flying a little ways to sit by the window above the credenza.

He shakes his head, pours himself a glass of water, and sits in the living room. He’s _exhausted_ , wants to go to bed, but needs to stay awake long enough so she can get her flying time in. His eyes droop and reopen, _d-r-o-o-p_ —

She lands on his shoulder and nuzzles her head against his neck. “Hi, Sunshine,” his voice is deep with the pull of sleep.

He brings his hand up next to her and she totters on, ready to go back in her cage.

* * *

Sleep deprivation only gets worse over the next few days. It’s silent when he staggers to standing, the music alarm never sounding. He doesn’t prepare any food, doesn’t pour any water, doesn’t even _shower_ — just pulls on a dress shirt and a suit and ties a Windsor knot tighter against his throat, dons socks and shoes that don’t match the charcoal, and heads out the door for the precinct.

Dani passes him first, asking “What is it?” but he brushes her off and continues to get coffee.

Gil’s “Hey, kid,” gets a wave as he passes on the way back to his desk.

“Not gonna ask for an update on the case?” Gil follows out after him. “We’re driving to Queens as soon as JT gets here.”

JT — _late?_ His face processes the information, his jaw shifting back and forth.

“Tally’s a little sick — he’ll be here soon.”

Malcolm nods and opens his folder of notes.

"Okay, then," Gil mutters to himself, returning to his office.

* * *

As hard as he concentrates, the scene doesn’t draw Malcolm’s attention enough to lose himself in it. At first glance, it’s too simple, too overdone, too _this was fascinating in a textbook fifteen years ago_ but not anymore. Not since he encountered more cases than he wanted at the FBI, but then he supposes exactly what type of case is okay to want? He trails his eyes over a man who was murdered doing food delivery and became the dessert, trying to find something that will pull him in deeper.

JT suggests, “Cannibalism is gross,” and Dani shrugs.

“What, no comment?” Dani asks, looking to Malcolm.

Malcolm ignores her, continuing to look over the body. “The bite marks indicate dining occurred postmortem.”

“That’s a relief,” JT deadpans.

“Respect,” Malcolm says firmly.

Gil catches his tone and starts paying a little more attention to the interaction. “Edrisa — “ Gil rolls his hand, motioning her to get on with her findings.

“Mr. Bright is right.” She smiles in his direction, but it’s not returned. “Dinner for two,” she adds, and the whole room frowns.

“Be _respectful_ ,” Malcolm stresses, and his glare forces Edrisa a few paces backwards.

As much as Gil has reprimanded her for the same behavior, Gil stares at him in return, not understanding what’s going on, but knowing it’s enough to cause them problems at the scene. “Edrisa, _facts_ ,” Gil emphasizes.

“Uh — uhhh,” she stumbles, then rushes to pick herself up. “Two different tooth indent patterns. He’s been dead roughly eighteen to twenty-four hours.”

“ _And_ …” Gil tries to get the rest of the information.

“That’s it. Let me know when you’re done, and we’ll be going.” She scurries and disappears to the back of the room, giving the rest of the team space to work.

“Bright — _tact_ ,” JT chides.

“Sharp,” Dani adds.

He dismisses them again and works through the scene, keeping his comments to himself. They can read once he’s put together a report. He needs to keep his mind busy with solving, not talking.

“Where’s the spiel?” JT asks when Malcolm’s thoughts don’t come.

“Back at the precinct.” His brow crinkles, attention staying with the deceased instead of them.

JT and Dani share a glance, but they both shrug off his behavior. Whatever has him on edge, they don’t want to get sliced.

But Gil doesn’t let him ride back with them — he sticks Malcolm in his car before he can voice a complaint. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“We have a _case_ to solve.” Both hands chop the point in front of him.

“Wrong words to get me not to worry.” Gil glances over at him.

Malcolm shakes his head and looks out the window, a blur of shops going by. Were there any outcasts from local groups who then developed cannibalistic tendencies? A couple who might have some more interesting purchases in their Internet history? “I can’t talk about it right now.”

“After, then.”

“ _Gil_.”

“We have an agreement — one of us talks, the other listens," Gil reminds him.

“When we _want_ to,” his voice breaks, and the storefronts are a little more watercolor. Maybe they’ve engaged in other feasts? Not in New York, but other states?

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” Gil stands firm.

It gets more difficult to retain grasp of the cannibals — they threaten to slip out of focus. Malcolm digs his fingernails into his hands, begging the crescents to hold him together.

* * *

They investigate a few tight-knit social clubs prone to excommunicating members. Consider black market meat purchases, but there’s a sea of indecipherable nonsense they decide is a waste of time for the moment. Go door to door asking for security camera footage.

It’s a basic profile: extreme loner seeking control over another human. Two people and an abandoned body make it somewhat unusual. Malcolm gives the team enough of a picture to get them going in the right direction, and he remains on hand to help narrow the field once they have more information to consider.

He’s left at his desk, scribbling to fill the space in his brain, but he’s losing. When Gil walks by at the end of the day, he pulls him away to his office in the hopes he’s ready to go back to his loft so they can talk. But Malcolm refuses, “Not today,” his eyes looking under Gil’s desk like he’d crawl there if he’d fit.

“Talk here?”

“I’m _upset!_ ” Malcolm shouts, breaking from the pressure that’s built up all day. His hands fly to his head and he implodes as fast as he exploded, bending over. “ _Please_ , Gil, leave me be.”

Gil doesn't step back. “What is it, kid?” Gil tries again with a hand on his shoulder, wanting to help relieve whatever is causing him so much tension.

“S-s —“ Malcolm doesn’t get the words out, just crumbles against Gil.

Gil holds him up and tucks his head into his chest. He can’t understand a word he says through rattling sobs, but he soothes his hair and lends a safe crying space. Remembers that thankfully, he still has the blinds tipped to avoid passersby.

After moments that drag like hours through his chokes and coughs, Malcolm pulls away from Gil, keeping his head dipped in shame.

“This was a bad idea,” Malcolm admits, his voice rough from tears. “I can’t do this today.”

“Work?”

“I need to go home.” Malcolm looks toward the door.

“I can — “

But before Gil finishes, he’s off, walking toward the subway.

* * *

The Gucci shoebox is huge in Malcolm’s hands. Lightweight when there is only dark. His thumbs brush the white lid and fingers grab the black trim, setting the lid aside.

He reaches into the cage, cradling her in his hands, stroking her feathers one last time.

“You are my Sunshine,” his voice is quiet and slow as he brushes her head.

“My only Sunshine.” His fingers drift over her back and glide to her tail feathers.

“You make me ha — “ his voice gives out in a silent cry, streams running down his cheeks, “— ppy when skies are grey.”

“You’ll never know dear,” a crack slows him, but he wobbles on, “how much I love you — “ Sobs wrack his body and he breaks down with his head dipping over her small frame. If he could hold her again, if she could live forever trilling to him when he came home, if she could live just a _few more days_ free-roaming out of her cage.

Why didn’t he know something was wrong when she bit him — _why_ did he let it go another day until she was too sick to hop off the floor of her cage — _why_ wasn’t there anything more the vet could do but point out her age, give medicine at his request that probably wouldn’t work, and tell him to come in or wait — _why_ had he selfishly spent more time at work than home playing with her — _why?_ Him sitting beside her cage, soothing her with words, giving her pets with his finger until she didn’t last the night.

 _Please_ don’t take Sunshine —

away.

He kisses her head, lowers her into the box’s fine paper, and closes the lid. Sits on the floor with the box in a sheltering embrace until his tears run dry. Walks to the vet in a haze, the sunset filled with beautiful greens and yellows on the horizon.

He can almost hear her warm greeting when he walks back up the stairs to his loft.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
